


Over and Over and Over Again

by Cybra



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Reincarnation, Some magic, Unnatural Longevity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 07:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13542903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybra/pseuds/Cybra
Summary: Scrooge has known Beakley for a good portion of his life though she doesn't know it.  After all, she'd had different names and faces then, but he'll never tell her that or the fact he falls in love with her each time they meet.





	Over and Over and Over Again

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got inspired for a _short_ …ish Scrooge/Beakley ship fic. Many thanks to [otpprompts](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/) for their prompt “[Imagine that person A of your OTP is immortal while person B is mortal but reincarnates](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/170317123010/imagine-that-person-a-of-your-otp-is-immortal)”. AU, obviously. I took inspiration for sections on Scrooge’s past from Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck since the show is on hiatus.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** _Ducktales_ belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

Scrooge first met her when he was eighteen on a ship heading south to Africa.

Back then, her name was “Joan Lee”.  She’d also been heading southward though he hadn’t initially bothered to ask why.  They’d met late one night when Scrooge was off-shift from paying his way via hard work but had been too restless to get some proper sleep.

“Pardon me, miss,” he said as she jumped upon seeing him. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s fine.  I wasn’t paying attention.”  Her accent was British, not Scottish like his.

He wasn’t sure why, but he took the time to study her rather than going on his way to try and walk out the rest of his insomnia.  She was homely, comfortable-looking rather than beautiful.  Her excellent poise spoke of good breeding.  Even without the obvious differences in clothing and the fact that Scrooge’s feathers were a dull grey from shoveling coal all day into the ship’s boiler, he could tell she was from a much higher class than him.  According to the rules of the strict class system of Great Britain, rules they were both born under, it was inappropriate for them to interact more than absolutely necessary.

However, he’d lived in America for too long, and the American Dream that with enough skill, determination, foresight, and hard work (and maybe a little luck for good measure) one could rise above the circumstances of their birth had taken root in his mind.  Living for so long without such a strict class system allowed him to be bold enough to speak to her again.

“Is everything all right?”

She stared at him as if she couldn’t believe that he would continue speaking to her.  Just as he mentally debated bidding her goodnight and leaving, she said, “I just had too much on my mind to sleep.”

“Seems you and I have the same problem then,” Scrooge told her with a slight smile.

She hesitated for a moment before she smiled back.

They talked for another two hours: nothing particularly noteworthy, just simple and inconsequential things.  It became a routine as the ship continued its way south.  Every evening she listened, enraptured, to his stories of his adventures in America.  She asked intelligent questions about the work he’d done and even was currently performing on the ship, soon building up enough confidence to start telling him outright when she thought he’d been particularly foolish.  Sometimes they even argued over the finer details of his tales, her being unable to completely believe him at times.  Yet even when their feathers were so ruffled by each other that they went their separate ways in a huff, they always met up the next evening.

In the eyes of their fellow passengers, it was shameful.  The only thing that would’ve made it more scandalous would be if he’d decided to accompany her somewhere more secluded than the open deck.

Still, he enjoyed her company and maybe even fell a little bit in love.  He hadn’t possessed experience with it back then: too young and driven to give such a notion serious thought.  Looking back on it over a hundred years later, he still wouldn’t be able to say either way with a hundred percent certainty.  At the very least, he’d made a good friend, and he was glad for that.

The last night of the trip, she finally told him why she was traveling south:

“I’m getting married.  My fiancée is waiting for me in Cape Town.  He’s a captain in Her Majesty’s army,” she said softly. “Once the wedding’s complete, my family will be returning to England while I remain with him.”

“For a bride-to-be, you don’t sound too happy,” Scrooge pointed out.

Joan gave a quiet hum of agreement.  “I’m doing what’s right and proper.  Our parents have been arranging this ever since we were children.  I can’t say I’ll be unhappy with him, but...I suppose I regret just going along with it.  Listening to your stories about the things you claim you’ve done—”

“All true, I might add,” he said wryly.

“So you claim,” she retorted. “Regardless, it makes me realize that I’ll never get the chance to see how much of it was actually real.  My entire life was planned out before I started maturing, and I never thought to question it before this trip.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her sincerely.

She shook her head.  “God willing, maybe one day I’ll get the chance.  In the meantime, we both should go rest up.  I’ll be disembarking with my family as soon as we’re in port, and I imagine you’ll be busy assisting with docking.  But I want to say ‘thank you’ and I hope to see you in Cape Town again one day with more diamonds than you know what to do with.”

He chuckled before blushing hotly as she kissed him on the cheek.  As he sputtered for a response, she made her escape.

Many years later during a visit to Cape Town as a billionaire, Scrooge found out she died of malaria after a particularly difficult pregnancy, her having laid her eggs only a few days before, ten years after she told him “goodbye”.  He’d barely known her but he mourned her none-the-less.

* * *

 

When Scrooge was fifty, he met her again.  Only now she was a young American woman with the name “Tress Featherby”.

Despite his age, he’d been blessed (cursed) with the same longevity and slowed aging that all McDucks had due to some past intermingling with the fair folk.   (This wasn’t immortality like most on the outside would’ve thought but close enough.  It wasn’t very noticeable to outsiders given the trait was only passed down on the father’s side, and most McDucks that didn’t die before reaching two hundred, admittedly a rarity, faked their records to stay or faked their deaths to be swept off to the lands of the fair folk.)  His clan’s magical gifts had largely skipped him for his sisters though he did have one gift that nearly went wild after they’d reached Fort Duckburg and he’d been overwhelmed by the restless spirits of dead soldiers, him seeing them so clearly that he initially mistook them for living people.  With Matilda and Hortense’s tutelage, he’d gotten his ability to commune with spirits under control and the three of them managed to help the dead of Fort Duckburg finally be able to move on.

It was these abilities that made him quite the accomplished (though not publicly-known) medium that allowed him to recognize her despite almost everything about her having changed.  The only consistency was that same homely, comfortable appearance even if the overall form was different.

They met in his office during his search for a secretary.  Her husband had been drafted for the Great War a few months before, Scrooge’s previous secretary also getting drafted a week prior to the meeting.  (The only reason Scrooge himself hadn’t been drafted or likely wouldn’t have even been allowed to volunteer was his age which put him over the upper limit.  Not that he would’ve been accepted anyway due to his ruined eyesight making him a liability in the event he lost his glasses.)  He’d talked to several young ladies hoping for the position before her, but she was the one who impressed him the most even before he fully recognized her:  Her references had been impeccable and she’d been willing to travel as needed since she and her husband were currently childless.

“Though if you’re planning on visiting anywhere on Germany’s side, I won’t go,” she’d told him with refreshing honesty.

It was that very honesty that had finally allowed him to fully grasp the source of the déjà vu he’d been feeling since she’d first stepped into his office.  He was internally happy to see his friend again even if she had no memory of the encounter from her previous life.

He didn’t hire her on the spot, but he did after the last interview for the position due to her qualifications surpassing those of her competitors.  (She had been his friend, but this was business.)

It proved to be the correct choice since Featherby quickly made herself indispensable.  Within a month, the young woman was anticipating his every want and need.  If she didn’t have it in his hand the moment he asked for it, the item or report in question was already on its way.  She accompanied him almost everywhere, dutifully taking notes, expertly juggling his busy schedule, or even just ordering him food and nagging him until he ate it.  In under a year, everyone knew she wasn’t just his secretary but his right-hand woman.

By this time, he was old and experienced enough to recognize that, yes, he had fallen in love with her though he would hesitate to use the word “soulmate” even with his more arcane insight into spirits.  However, he said nothing.  There was no way to know if she felt a similar attraction or if she thought of him as anything more strongly than her employer and, as they spent more time together, friend.  She was a professional in all things and took all his eccentricities (and all the attacks on the Money Bin) in stride though he was certain he’d heard on at least one occasion her muttering “Pension, girl” to herself.

Eight years after their meeting found them in the Waldorf-Astoria in Scrooge’s usual suite for when he was in New York.  As usual, tongues wagged about their relationship despite the fact that the suite had three separate bedrooms, ensuring that the only way they’d share a bed was if they chose to.  (As much as Scrooge hated spending the money on a suite it was a necessary evil even when his secretary was male:  A week or so spent in close proximity with someone else you weren’t particularly close to could grate on the nerves and the last thing he’d needed was to be in a foul mood from squabbles regarding sharing a hotel room during a major deal.)  The tongues wagged more than usual as Scrooge carried both their bags up to the suite, her walking beside him at a more pronounced waddle than usual.

She unlocked the door and held it open, one hand on her back.  “As much as I’m glad for the private car, I’m looking forward to a real bed.  Once we get back to Calisota, sir, I am staying put until my egg hatches.  My back is already killing me; days on a train don’t help.”

Scrooge chuckled as he left his own bag outside his bedroom before placing her bag inside hers.  “It isn’t my fault you and your husband decided to have more at a very inconvenient time.”

“I’ll make sure to remind him of your busy schedule next time,” Featherby snapped, her current state plus the long train ride making her irritable.

“Tell him that if you have to have any more, you’re going to name them after me.  That’ll convince him your family’s large enough,” he teased.

“I might.  If you don’t have need of me, sir…?”

He motioned towards the bed and squeezed past her.  “I’ll wake you for dinner.”

“You mean I’ll wake up hungry and drag you to the dining room for dinner,” she corrected with a sniff.

Scrooge chuckled.  Anyone else and he’d be furious with them, but Featherby had more than earned the right to talk back to him on occasion.  Given he’d uprooted her when she was making the transition to full-on nesting mode, her current attitude was understandable.

He shut her bedroom door and moved his own bag into his room.  Honestly, he was looking forward to a real bed as well.  The private car’s furniture easily converted back and forth to beds but they weren’t particularly comfortable and old wounds from those years traveling the world would come back to haunt him.

He returned to the drawing room with a book, intending to get some light reading done before dinner.  He didn’t know how long he sat there on the sofa, but the weight settling in beside him alerted him to Featherby being awake.

“Have a good nap?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said with a sigh. “I felt guilty.”

“Featherby, we’ve been through this whole ordeal twice already,” he reminded her, eyes still focused on the written word. “I’ve learned not to take offense and to count to one hundred if I’m starting to lose my temper in this scenario.”

“I know, but I still feel bad,” she muttered, leaning against his shoulder, a gesture that would’ve been “proof” of a juicy scandal to anyone who didn’t know their real relationship. “Especially since you actually baby me when I’m…well…having a baby.  Richard blows his top whenever anyone catches you doing it and the tabloids start talking about affairs and potential McDuck heirs.”

Scrooge snorted at that, finally looking up from his book to meet her gaze.  “I might be the Richest Duck in the World, but I do have limits.”

“You mean standards?” she asked in bemusement.

“Limits,” he repeated. “I’d never ask a happily-married woman to sleep with me.  Besides, mixing business with pleasure isn’t wise.”

“Duly noted, sir,” she said with a small smile on her bill as she closed her eyes.

He gave a soft smile as she fell into a deep sleep even if his arm was going numb.  With no one to observe him, he took in her appearance—maternity and all—and sighed mournfully.

If only they’d met a year sooner, the tabloids might have been right.  Well, at least right on them actually being together.  If he closed his eyes, he would see the fantasy of a simple wedding in Dismal Downs followed by children at their feet in addition to the one in her belly.  She’d be at his side and he at hers until death they once more parted, a partnership sealed with matching rings.  For not the first time since he accepted that his feelings for her ran deeper than they should’ve, he cursed his ill luck for making him miss his chance with her a second time.

She remained his secretary and closest friend for another seventeen years.  The only reason she stopped being both was when she was fatally struck by a car.

Scrooge wasn’t invited to the funeral so he couldn’t be sure, but he’d bet Old Number One that he cried as hard as her husband did when he got the news.

* * *

 

The next time he saw her, he was well over a hundred years old but had hardly aged for it.  This time she bore the name “Bentina Beakley”.

This time he recognized her right away, that déjà vu-like feeling having alerted him.  If he’d thought Featherby had been different from Joan, that difference was nothing compared to her most recent incarnation:

Serious and no-nonsense in a way that perfectly suited the British accent she once more spoke with.  A former agent of SHUSH who’d had all the adventures Joan could’ve wanted without sacrificing the opportunity of the happy marriage and family that had made Featherby so content though as of their meeting her children were grown and she was a widow.  She was also significantly older than when he’d met her two previous incarnations, her greying hair bundled up into a neat bun on the back of her head.  She was significantly taller than he was and certainly more muscular yet still maintained that homely, comfortable appearance that she’d worn so well before.

Bodyguard and housekeeper all rolled into one.  Very efficient, very cost-effective.

Even without the satisfaction of saving a few extra dollars, he fell in love with her all over again.

Unfortunately, old habits died hard.

“For the millionth time, I am _not_ your _secretary!”_

Scrooge ducked just in time as she threw a pencil at him, the pointed object sailing through the space his head had previously occupied.  Had it been made of sterner stuff, the pencil probably would’ve imbedded itself into the wall, but instead it broke in two on impact.

“Ehm, ever thought of changing that?” he asked awkwardly. “The position’s open.  Again.”

“I have enough to do around the house,” Beakley said crisply. “Not to mention handling meals and chasing off those wretched people you keep collecting as enemies.”

“Right.  Of course.”  He cleared his throat and picked up the pencil pieces, studying them carefully before deciding that, yes, they would still be useful at their job and slipping them into his coat pocket.

“Honestly, how many times do I have to remind you?” she sighed in frustration.

“It doesn’t help you do such a good job of managing the household,” he countered with a huff. “You’d be perfect at the job.”

“Perhaps but I’m not interested.  Find someone else.”

He couldn’t tell her that he didn’t _want_ anyone else because he already knew she was perfect for the job from past experience and that she’d always fit so neatly into his life.  Even if she didn’t call an asylum, she’d likely quit.  Instead, he kept his bill shut and went through another round of interviews.

The depressing part was that he might have had a chance with Joan if her kiss was anything to go by, he might’ve even had a slim chance with Featherby, but Beakley?  He’d swiftly learned that it wasn’t in the least bit possible.  She was a good friend and confidant, but her affections clearly stopped there.

Perhaps the next incarnation he was lucky enough to meet would be interested.

That thought briefly flitted through his mind one night after returning from a particularly grueling day at the office at a time so late that Donald and the kids had long since gone to bed.  He collapsed onto the couch, unable to drag himself the rest of the way to his bedroom.  As he started to drift off, she was suddenly there beside him.  He blinked slowly at her before nearly closing his eyes completely, too tired to argue about how he was too old to go at full-throttle in everything he did.  (For the record, he wasn’t.  He still had a few good centuries left in him at least.)

She didn’t scold him, however.  Instead, she carefully made him sit up just long enough to place an actual pillow under his head before sliding a quilt over him.

He gave a contented sigh, wriggling down into the warmth and mumbling what he hoped sounded like the gratitude he’d intended to give her.  As he fully closed his eyes, he felt her take his glasses and heard her place them on the side table.  Just when he was about to be swallowed up by darkness, he felt her smooth out the quilt before hesitantly brushing her fingers through his whiskers.

…Perhaps he wouldn’t have to wait for her next incarnation after all.


End file.
